Hollowed Whole
by PangeaSplits
Summary: XMFC/Bleach fusion. Charles Xavier has held his post as Captain of the Fifth Division for three centuries now, making him the longest-standing Captain of the Gotei 13 besides the Captain Commander himself. He shouldn't be the only one. Charles/Erik.
1. One-Sided Sympathy

For my boo **Charlie**, since we shout at each other on an extremely regular basis about fic ideas and generally act as bad influences. I mean enablers. Or something.

XMFC/_Bleach_ fusion. As a warning this fic is probably a little rough on the emotions at first but I promise that it _will_ get better! Stick with me, this one has a happy ending. For real. Charles/Erik is endgame, I promise.

Blanket disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter title casually lifted from chapter 24 of Tite Kubo's _Bleach_.

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_Chapter I._

**_One-Sided Sympathy_**

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"Do not seek beauty in battle," Charles says as he opens the door of the lecture hall, pitching his voice loud enough to carry through the whole room. An immediate hush falls across the murmuring students, their attention settling on him. "Do not seek virtue in death. Do not make the mistake of considering only your own life."

It's dead quiet in the room now, the soft _tak tak tak_ of his sandals on the hardwood floor the only audible sound. He crosses the front of the room slowly, arms folded neatly behind his back, gaze drifting over the students. Young and eager. Young and eager and desperate to prove themselves.

"If you wish to protect that which you _must_ protect…" Charles comes to a stop in the center of the front of the hall, letting the silence hang heavily in the air. His own words hang heavily in his heart. "Slice the enemy you must defeat from behind."

The students shift in their seats, murmurs rippling through the crowd as the last echoes of his voice fade. Charles gives them a faint smile, turning on his heels to face them fully.

"These are the commandments that will be drilled into you during your training here," he continues calmly, the words coming automatically now after so many long years. "But I am here to tell you that if you apply yourselves to your studies, and work hard in your training, there will be no need for that last one. You'll be able to fight your enemy head-on, and achieve honorable victory."

That draws a few smiles and a couple short laughs, as it always does, and which Charles encourages with another faint smile. It's not a particularly funny joke, but it's one he likes to make every year regardless. He can only hope that by the time they graduate, some of them will still remember it.

"My name is Charles Xavier, Captain of the Fifth Division of the Gotei 13. Welcome to the Academy." He sweeps his gaze out across the room again, making eye contact here and there. This seems like a solid bunch. They'll do well. "Before I turn you back over to your teacher, I want to remind you all that the work and effort you put in here will most certainly set the groundwork for your future as a Shinigami. Death god. Soul reaper. We have many names. But we all serve one purpose.

"Some of you will join the Gotei 13, and be assigned to one of our thirteen divisions. One or two of you may achieve the rank of Vice-Captain or even Captain. Still others will join the Kido Corps or the Onmitsukido—the Stealth Force, for those of you unfamiliar with its traditional name," he adds wryly, drawing a few sheepish chuckles from the ranks. "And some of you will drop out."

Smiles fade. Everyone sits up a little straighter. Charles would be able to hear a pin hit the floor, were he so inclined to drop one. The room is an interesting mix of spirit pressures. Some of them he can feel, pressed against his skin like a blanket, ramped up with tension and the lack of control that they will all learn soon enough. It's a bit like standing in a fluctuating pressurechamber, the different spirit powers grating on his senses.

Charles takes a breath. He hates this part. "The most important thing I can tell you today, however, is to form bonds. Strengthen them. Treasure them. Everyone in this room is your brothers and sisters in arms. You will fight side-by-side together for the rest of your lives. Bonds are important. They're something that we should all fight to protect."

The silence is thoughtful now. They don't quite understand him fully yet, but Charles knows that in time, they will. He hadn't understood the exact same words when they'd been spoken to him, well over three centuries ago. He hadn't understood them at all until it'd been far too late.

Steady, he thinks to himself when his hands threaten to tremble. Fortunately they're still behind his back so none of the students see when he clenches his fists tightly.

When he's sure that his voice is no longer in danger of being anything other than steady, he continues. "Work hard. Do your best. I look forward to seeing you all again in six years upon your graduation." He offers them one last faint smile. "Good luck."

He uses flash step to reach the door of the lecture hall, opening the door and slipping out of the room before any of them think to look back. It always serves as a dramatic exit—he hears a brief upwelling of noise as the door shuts behind him, mostly small exclamations of surprise.

"Well spoken as always, Captain Xavier." Captain Jean Grey of the Ninth Division stands a little ways down the hall, surveying him with her piercing eyes. Her red hair is bright against her white Captain's overcoat. She's always reminded him of a tiger coiled and waiting, ready to attack at a moment's notice and turn pent up energy into a maelstrom of unbridled violence.

"Hello Jean," he greets her, giving her a polite nod. They're not particularly close friends, as the Ninth and Fifth don't mix very often, but he respects her as a colleague and they get along well enough.

"Charles." Jean falls into step beside him, fluid and graceful. Her spirit pressure is carefully tucked away like his own but it still prickles on the edges of his senses, deep and powerful.

Or maybe it only prickles because of him. _He's_ probably the prickly one, hackles raised in defense, mostly because he knows what she's thinking. What she's trying to work out to say, how to pick her words so that she doesn't sound pitying. Charles resists the urge to close his eyes as they walk. He really wishes that she just _wouldn't_.

"You always know what to say," Jean says, taking him by surprise. She sounds thoughtful. The prickly itch of her spirit pressure lessens somewhat. "You're very good at it, Charles. You know how to motivate the first years, the sixth years, the Gotei 13—everyone."

Charles' mouth twists. "I have a lot of experience." He means for the words to come out neutrally but instead he just sounds tired, even to his own ears. He's carried weariness in his bones for a long time now and it drags on him, filling up the spaces between his ligaments and tendons and leaking in past his cartilage and replacing marrow as it weighs him down. There is no escaping the constant reminder.

"I know," she says quietly, her voice even.

"Doesn't everyone?" Charles shoots her a warning look as they step out the front doors of the main building of the Academy, into the wide courtyard flanked on either side by different wings of the school.

Jean chooses to ignore him. "The Captain Commander wouldn't ask you to stay on if he didn't feel you were still capable, Charles."

The prickly feeling is smoldering in his gut now, hot and sharp. He feels uncomfortable in his own skin and Jean picks up on the spark in his spirit pressure, glancing over at him. Charles tamps down on his power, smoothing his expression into a blank look.

"If you wouldn't mind," he says tonelessly, "I'd rather not do this, Captain Grey."

She's startled into blinking, her serene façade slipping for a moment. "Of course. I didn't mean to—"

"I have a few matters of business to attend to," Charles says, and at least he can still make his tone polite. He gives her a nod. "Good day."

He takes off before she can answer, flash stepping to slip out of sight. He bounds up onto the roof of the nearest building, his footfalls light against the tiles as he crosses the Seireitei, headed back towards the Fifth Division barracks. Fortunately Jean doesn't try to give chase.

That's the problem, Charles thinks as he leaps from rooftop to rooftop, fists still tightly clenched, when you're the local example of tragedy. He doesn't want to be handled like glass everywhere he goes but it's inevitable, even after 200 years.

Even though, privately, he still feels as if he's made of glass, liable to shatter in an instant.

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The afternoon sun is warm on his skin where it dapples down through the branches and while the breeze is light, it's just cool enough to feel soothing as it ruffles his hair, making the leaves overhead whisper frantically for a moment before dying down. Charles turns a page of his book, shifting where he leans back against the wide tree trunk. It's quiet here on the outskirts of the Seireitei, one of his favorite places to come to.

"There you are." A disturbance in the air, a dip in the resonance of the spirit particles that make up the world around him, and suddenly Charles is no longer alone. "Studying on our day off, Charles? I don't know why I'm surprised."

Charles marks his place with one finger, a small grin quirking at the corners of his lips. "Maybe if you followed my example," he says teasingly as he tilts his head back, blinking for a moment in the face of the sun through the branches, "you'd do better on your exams."

A snort. "I can outscore you in Zanjutsu any day."

"Certainly your skill with a sword is to be feared," Charles acknowledges with a smile, "but how is your Kido, again, Erik?"

Erik makes a face, muttering something under his breath as he steps further into the shade of the tree. Charles has to tilt his head back a little further to compensate, grinning up at him even as Erik scowls back.

"Don't make that face, my friend," he says with a laugh, "it's our day off! Come sit with me." He pats the ground invitingly.

"Move over," Erik commands, picking his way over a thick, exposed root. Charles obliges, scooting over so that there's room enough for Erik to sink down beside him, their shoulders pressed together as Erik leans back against the trunk as well. "You call this comfortable?"

"Very," Charles assures him, giving him a nudge as they settle into place. He opens his book again as another breeze rifles through the leaves overhead.

Erik makes a small, unconvinced sound but his eyes are closed, body slowly relaxing next to Charles'. Charles smiles to himself and leaves Erik be, reabsorbed bit by bit back into his book as the clouds drift by overhead. The Academy doesn't give very many days off, so this is—

"This is nice," Erik mumbles as he stretches, his spine a long, graceful curve beneath his white uniform kosode, before he drops one arm down behind Charles' shoulders lazily.

"It is," Charles agrees, and means it. Like a cat stretched in a patch of sunlight, full on cream, he is the definition of content. He's in his favorite place with his favorite person and an admittedly good book. The sun is shining. It's the sort of feeling that anyone could idly wish for it to last forever, he thinks, and he can't deny that he feels the same.

"I can sense you having feelings about this from here," Erik says, dry as dust.

"Well you _are_ close," Charles points out, but he's smiling again.

Erik makes a sound that is usually accompanied by the roll of his eyes. "Read to me. And then later we'll practice Kido."

Charles chuckles. "You're in luck, this is an incantation book."

"Ah," Erik answers with the same level of enthusiasm Charles usually reserves for sparring, "poetry."

"Listen," Charles chides, elbowing him, and then begins to read aloud, his voice flowing with the words on the breeze and Erik settles further against him, much like an overgrown cat himself, and later Charles will despair as the details of the day slowly fade from memory with the long passage of time.

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"I thought about you today," Charles murmurs idly as he unfolds himself from his knelt position behind his low desk, rising up off the cushions fluidly despite the stiffness he feels from sitting far too long. Sean must have come through earlier—Charles thinks he can faintly remember distantly registering his Vice-Captain's spirit pressure at some point—because the candles are lit, their flickering light softly illuminating the empty office.

Charles crosses the room slowly, putting them out one by one. He's done enough paperwork for today. He has a habit of getting into the zone, lost to the world as his focus narrows down. It helps keep his mind off of other things, at least for awhile. It's inevitable where his thoughts always end up.

"I suppose that isn't news," he muses, extinguishing the last candle and pitching his office into darkness. He stands still patiently, waiting for his eyes to adjust. "I'm always thinking of you."

Moonlight falls in slanted beams across the floor, becoming brighter when Charles slides the screen door all the way open. The night sky is clear and cloudless, the moon full and round. The Fifth Division barracks are quiet tonight, and he can't sense anyone else about other than the usual two sets of sentries on night watch. Summer is slowly fading into fall so while the days are still hot the night air is beginning to grow crisp, and Charles shivers lightly as he steps out onto the elevated walkway of the barracks, sliding the door to his office shut.

"The new batch of first years all look promising," Charles says, barely above a whisper as he walks. His pace is slow and sedate; he's not in a hurry. No one is waiting for him. "You'd disagree. You'd say that that the Academy's standards have dropped since we were students." He can't stop the smile that flickers across his face, there and gone. "And meanwhile you'd already be picking out your favorites for your division."

His personal quarters are on the other end of the barracks in the east wing but he doesn't feel like retiring quite yet. He's gotten better at sleeping, over the years, but he still finds that it's just not something he needs very much of anymore. There's a garden on the western side of the sprawling complex so Charles heads there instead, stepping lightly and gliding like a shadow between patches of moonlight.

"I was angry, earlier," he admits softly. "I should apologize to Jean. She's been of support more often than not. It grates after awhile, though. I'm sure you'd understand. You knew all my moods."

The garden is a small affair, tucked neatly between two buildings in a small sort of alcove. There's plenty of greenery, lush even at night, and a small fountain bubbles quietly over smooth stones. Charles steps off the path onto the grass, soft underfoot. He brushes past a gnarly bush, ducking beneath a large fern. There's a tree in the center of the garden, small but sturdy, its twiggy branches standing out in stark contrast to the moon overhead.

Charles stops and stands still for a moment, breathing. He keeps his spirit pressure tightly compact these days, packed deep down inside himself but now he lets it unfurl, stretching out tentatively. His edges are still loose and frayed, old scars that will never fade. Anna Marie has offered more times than Charles can count to take a look at him, to see if any repair can be made to his damaged spirit pressure, but he refuses every time. It'll heal on its own or not at all.

"Would you call me stubborn?" Charles asks. He carefully withdraws his power back into himself, folding it down to where the instability won't register in anyone's awareness. There are plenty of rumors afloat about him within the Gotei 13, but he's long since learned to shrug them off like water. The list of people who know the truth of the matter is very, very short. "Or would you be just as maudlin as me, old friend?"

Charles sinks down at the base of the tree, leaning back against the trunk. His white overcoat will probably get stained, but that hardly matters. He tips his head back against the rough bark, closing his eyes—not to sleep, but to remember.

"I miss you," he breathes, the soft confession more of a weary sigh, and it's just as well that there is no one there to hear him.

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"And that," Armando says cheerfully as he sends another first year flying, "is why you must always think on your feet. Read the situation. Adapt to the scenario. Hollows are predictable at best but _un_predictable at worst. They can take even seasoned veterans by surprise."

"How is this supposed to help us?" one of them snaps, glaring at him with the frustration that can only be brought from being six months into one's first year at the Academy with little progress to show. The first year is always the most brutal—it has a certain way of bringing to light all of one's shortcomings all at once. It's supposed to. If you can survive your first year at the Academy, Armando thinks, you can nearly survive anything. "You're the Eleventh Division Captain. You're known for being _invincible_. You're just beating us up."

Armando smiles wryly. It's refreshing, being addressed so bluntly by someone other than his Vice-Captain. "For one, it doesn't hurt to teach all you hotheads a little humility. You're not in the Gotei 13 yet." There are a few downwards glances at that, and lots of shuffling feet. He tries not to laugh. "For another, _all _of your enemies are going to seem invincible at first—until you figure out their weakness. Everyone's got them."

"Even you?" asks the first year he'd thrown. She's a spry little thing, wiping her mouth with one arm as she rises.

"Even me." He grins. "Though mine is a bit harder to reach than most, I will admit. That's why I volunteer to come in and give you guys something to hit besides practice stakes and each other. What's a Hollow's biggest weakness?"

"Its mask," she answers at once. "Everyone knows that."

Armando nods. "That includes the Hollow. It isn't going to let you get so close very easily. That's why you've got to learn to get creative."

That's when he sees it, a tiny flicker of black in the corner of his eye over the heads of the rest of the students gathered. He straightens from his ready stance, letting the wooden practice sword in his hand dip down as he lifts his free arm. The Hell Butterfly flutters over to land delicately on one of his fingers, wings opening and closing in time as it relays its message. It's serious if they've sent a butterfly rather than a messenger.

"It looks like we're going to have to cut this short for the day," he announces absently, flicking his fingers once so that the Hell Butterfly flutters off, his thoughts already removed entirely from the lesson.

A mandatory Captain's meeting, all Captains required to be present. He can barely remember the last time the Commander demanded all of them to be there—usually everyone is too spread out to bother. He breaks into flash step, dropping the practice sword and leaving the practice yard behind in the blink of an eye as he runs too fast for the average eye to follow, bounding up onto the rooftops so he can cross the Seireitei more easily. Something must be up.

"Alex."

There's a dip in spirit pressure and then his Vice-Captain runs alongside him, only a step or two behind. "What the fuck, 'Mando."

Armando huffs out a brief laugh. "I take it this isn't about the butterfly."

"Well—what the fuck about that too," Alex says, "but seriously. You shouldn't have let that brat talk to you like that. You're a Captain, he's a _flea_."

"He'll learn his place in the hierarchy of things," Armando answers. "I don't volunteer at the Academy to impress my rank upon them. I'd rather that they actually learned something."

Alex snorts. "Then hit them harder. You're a _Captain_, they should _know_—"

"They've called a meeting," Armando interrupts him, "that's what the butterfly was for."

Alex is silent for three steps, the amount of which takes them clear across the Seventh Division's district. "Not good," he says eventually. Armando still feels his spirit pressure spike, though whether it's in anxiety or anticipation is hard to tell.

"Might not be bad, either," Armando says calmly. "Either way, be ready."

Alex snorts. "You don't have to tell me."

"I prefer to," Armando says lightly, reaching back without looking to briefly brush his fingers against Alex's wrist. "See you soon."

"Sir," Alex agrees, but the word is charged, crackling between them and holding more meaning than a mere honorific. Armando's lips curl in a smile and then Alex is gone, changing direction abruptly as he heads back towards the Eleventh Division district. No one ever put much faith in Alex as a member of the Gotei 13, back when he was still young and his vast spirit pressure was a loose cannon, wild and uncontrollable. When Armando had selected him as his Vice-Captain no one had been more surprised than Alex himself. He's come a long way. Armando would have no one else, for more reasons than one.

Captain's meetings take place at the First Division's headquarters, where the Captain Commander holds office. The building is more towards the center of the winding, circular layout of the Seireitei so it doesn't take Armando long to reach his destination, coming to a stop directly in front of the long pathway leading up to the building. Unlike the other division's headquarters, which more closely resemble barracks, the First Division's is wide and towering, as befits the head of the chain of command. Armando finds that he isn't the only one currently looking up at the building.

"Captain Xavier." Armando greets his fellow, moving up as to where he's more in the other Captain's line of sight rather than lurking behind him. While it's standard for Captains to rarely cross paths given their duties as well as the enormity of the Seireitei, Armando can still only count on one hand the number of times he's met Xavier.

Xavier blinks once, drawn out of thought. "Captain Muñoz," he says with a slight nod, polite enough but certainly not welcoming.

"Have any idea what this is about?" Armando asks, casually undeterred. Alex likes to say that he could hold a pleasant conversation with a Hollow, which may be a slight exaggeration, but it's within Armando's nature to be friendly. He's heard that Xavier used to be the same way before—well. Armando had still been in the Academy at the time, so he's not overly familiar with the details.

"Not the faintest," Xavier responds. In unspoken agreement they fall into step with each other as they start towards headquarters, though they keep about five feet of distance between them. Xavier moves like a shadow, just there on the edge of Armando's periphery, fluid and poised but not all there.

"Been quiet, lately," Armando says lightly as they approach the building. "Maybe the Commander just wants a check-in."

"He'd call us individually if that were the case," Xavier says tonelessly.

Armando shrugs, smiling despite himself. "Maybe he's gotten lazy."

Xavier comes back a little at that, glancing at him sharply, a flash of blue that is there and gone. His eyes are cloudy at first look, distant and aloof, but beyond that they are piercing, terrible with directness. Armando's spirit pressure is nothing to laugh at and he is comfortably confident in his abilities but Xavier flays him with that single look, unintentionally or not.

The worst part, Armando thinks as he gives himself a mental shake, rolling his shoulders once, is that he isn't sure what that look _actually_ means. Xavier is a wolf, injured and wary for it, prowling on just this side of tame. Armando might not be overly familiar with the details of what happened two centuries ago, but he knows enough.

"Pity they're not holding the meeting outdoors," he says when it's clear Xavier isn't going to say anything in response, "it is lovely out today."

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Xavier let out a silent sigh, the previously tense lines of his body loosening somewhat. "The Commander has never been one for simple pleasures," he says lightly, and Armando has to stop himself from smiling. It's the small victories in life. "He's more of a get-down-to-business type."

"Too true," Armando agrees easily. "I suppose work has to get done somehow."

The corners of Xavier's lips quirk up for the briefest of moments as they enter headquarters. It's fitting—a ghost of a smile to match the ghost of the past he carries around with him. If Armando looks closely he can see the cracks. "Indeed it does. I hope the council doesn't last long for the sake of my own work that needs to get done."

"It would be nice to get back to throwing first-year Academy students around."

Xavier glances at him again, so swiftly that Armando nearly misses it, but this time there's a different kind of spark there. "I hear they're quite lively this year."

"There are a few upstarts," Armando answers with a wry smile, "but every year has them. I was one myself, if I'm honest." He lets out a short laugh. "I was probably the biggest of my year."

"I as well," Xavier says quietly, startling him, but Armando has enough presence of mind to keep his gaze casually forward. The entrance hall of the First Division's headquarters is long, with thick columns lining the walls and a high, vaulted ceiling. "Though not the biggest."

"We certainly mellowed out just fine," Armando says even though he can tell he's lost Xavier completely, the other man's thoughts a million leagues away now. This is probably the point where people mistakenly start to push, and pry further than they should, which would account for why Xavier stays so guarded. It's hard for deep wounds to heal when they're constantly reopened by people who only want to look as far as the surface.

Xavier doesn't answer, not that Armando was expecting one. They've reached the end of the hall, standing in front of tall double doors that lead into the central council chamber. Xavier is tense again as he resurfaces from thought, his body a spring trap ready to snap shut. Armando can practically see the wolf's hackles rising; lips curling back to reveal sharp, white fangs.

He could offer words of consolidation. He's practiced enough with Alex, he knows how and what to say. But the fact of the matter remains that it simply is not his place. It's none of his business. He can respect that much.

"Let's see what this is about, shall we?" Armando says instead, reaching forward to push the doors open. They swing forward noiselessly on well-oiled hinges and Armando inclines his head once. Xavier is technically his senior after all, having been a Captain for far longer. "After you, Captain."

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"This is bullshit!" Charles exclaims even as he slashes diagonally across one Hollow's face, stopping the monster in its tracks as it bursts into nothing. He whirls around just in time to catch another, vanquishing it before it can even open its jaws.

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," Erik admits with a laugh, leaping past him to deal two ending blows at once in a deadly whirl of flashing metal. He comes to a stop, twirling his sword, and in the face of his grin Charles can't even scowl. "Damn, they just keep coming, don't they?"

Charles pants, looking past him at the hoards of Hollows materializing all across the sky with a chorus of unearthly howls. Below them the human city goes about its business, unaware of the multitude of spirits overhead. Humans have never been very good at seeing. "There's too many! There's no way they meant for this to happen during our training exercise!"

"Come on, Charles," Erik says, still wearing his brash grin, "these are just little guys. We can take them. It'll be fine."

"The last time you told me that _it'd be fine_ we wound up hungover for a full 48 hours," Charles retorts, even as he shifts his grip on his sword. Erik's right, all of the Hollows so far are small, but that's beside the point. There are only two of them verses at least thirty.

"That and this are two completely unrelated events," Erik laughs again, eyes glinting from the glow of the city below. His profile is stark against the dark sky, his sword an extension of his strong, limber arm; the rest of his body all long, hard lines that taper into elegance at his trim waist, hidden for now beneath the Academy uniform's resolutely baggy waistline though Charles knows better. He's spent a great deal of time tracing those lines, committing them to memory.

Just looking at him has Charles' heart crawling right up into his throat to beat there wildly, trapped like a fluttering bird in a cage, and if it weren't for the fact that they're currently vastly outnumbered in the middle of a fight Charles would be floored with the sudden, overwhelming love he has for this single cocky, frustrating, wonderful man, who looks back at him with what has to be an expression that mirrors Charles' own.

"I'll race you," Erik offers, lifting an eyebrow in just the way he knows to drive Charles mad, "whoever gets the highest count wins."

"And what will I win?" Charles asks with an impish grin, crossing the distance of sky between them and turning to put Erik at his back so that they face off against the Hollows together. Erik's right. They can take the Hollows out easily. They'll probably even get the highest score in their class on the exercise, keeping them at the forefront of the pack. It's what Erik wants, it's what Charles wants, and someone has to protect all the human souls down below.

It doesn't mean that they can't have a little fun in the process, he supposes.

"_I_ will win," Erik replies over his shoulder and Charles can feel his smirk, set into his words, "and the winner determines the prize."

Charles has just enough time to snort and then the first of the Hollows are on them and the rest becomes a blur of steel and teeth, a deadly dance of Soul Reaper and Hollow that has no doubt been played out many times before. Their victory is assured and comes swiftly, both of them exchanging smiles as sharp as their blades in bits and snatches of the fray, when time seems to slow down during a mere shared look.

Charles is never certain who actually wins that day because later after the dust settles and all the Hollows have been purified, after they've returned back home to Soul Society and the Seireitei and have turned in their report to their expectant instructors, Erik spreads him out across his simple mattress and takes him apart particle by particle, opening him up with fingers and tongue and then fucks him so slowly that Charles thinks his heart might beat right out of his chest by the time he comes apart. Their spirit pressures resonate to the same frequency as they pant into each other's mouths, a rising crescendo in a symphony that is all of Chares and all of Erik that they have poured into one another, keeping each other whole.


	2. Goodbye, Halcyon Days

As always, for **Charlie**.

The lovely **AliceDuIkana** has drawn Fifth Division Captain Charles Xavier in perfect _Bleach_-anime style, and can be viewed by following the link in my profile to my tumblr page and searching for my #hollowed whole tag.

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER include graphic depictions of violence and gore, as well as **major character death**. Proceed with caution. Reminder, however, that Charles/Erik is still my endgame plan no matter what. Trust me!

Chapter title casually lifted from chapter 237 of Tite Kubo's _Bleach_.

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_Chapter II._

**_Goodbye, Halcyon Days._**

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The central council chamber is a wide, empty space furnished only by a single plain, high-backed chair at the center of the back of the room, conspicuously empty for now. Charles can see his own reflection in the polished wood floor as he and Armando cross the short distance to their colleagues, footsteps echoing softly off the high, vaulted ceiling.

Nearly everyone else has already arrived, standing in their proper positions as they wait for the Captain Commander to enter. As is tradition, the Captains form two straight lines facing one another on either side of an invisible pathway leading up to the Commander's chair, standing in numerical order by Division; even numbers on the left and odd numbers on the right. Armando steps over to stand between the Thirteenth and Ninth Division Captains, leaving Charles to continue up the line, taking his place between the Third and Seventh.

With this many Captains in one room Charles is practically breathing reiatsu—spirit pressure made tangible, which is practically unavoidable in this case. His own flutters beneath his skin, rippling in the aftershock of so much condensed power unintentionally clashing; a lesser spirit of normal power would be crushed, ground down to particles in the face of the relentless onslaught. Captain-levels are not meant to be contained all in one place, even with all of them trying to tone it down. It doesn't help that while none of them are nervous, there's still an overall wary tension that hangs over the room.

Charles adjusts, his own reiatsu stabilizing out. He's on par with them all, so he has no trouble withstanding the rest of their spirit pressures.

"Good to see you, Charles." Anna Marie's gentle southern drawl, which she's never quite lost through the centuries, floats lightly across to him from where she stands directly opposite of him. The Fourth Division Captain has her arms folded serenely into her sleeves, her long hair pinned up and back out of her face. Out of everyone in the room she appears the most at ease, but she is always calm and unruffled, be it in the face of the busy hospital or her mouthy Vice-Captain.

"You as well," he offers her in greeting, and it's only half a lie at worst. Out of all the rest of the Captains she alone is perhaps the only one he'd prefer to speak with, if at all.

He's being unfair, he realizes. He doesn't know Armando very well but the Eleventh Division Captain had been perfectly courteous. Not everyone is out to question you, Xavier, he tells himself, it's been 200 years and the other Captains know enough to be over it; all curiosities satisfied. Move _on_.

He can't, though. Never, never, never.

"Any idea what this is about?" Anna Marie asks him. She definitely knows what's going on in his head, but it's different from her. She's a healer. She's going to look at him only clinically no matter what. Sometimes it's a relief.

"No," Charles answers her honestly. He asked Sean before he'd left the Fifth Division if there were any kind of rumors about anything being spread, but his Vice-Captain had cheerfully assured him that as far as he knew, all was well.

"Hm." Anna Marie hums lightly. Her brow doesn't quite furrow, but she looks thoughtful. "I wonder—"

"No use speculating," Azazel interrupts her gruffly. The Second Division Captain stands to her left, eyes closed while his long, pointed tail flicks back and forth slowly. "The Commander will tell us soon enough."

"Will he be here soon, then?" another voice picks up from Charles' right, and Charles freezes. "The meeting was called for exactly half past the hour, and it's now—"

Azazel cracks an eye open lazily, regarding the Third Division Captain with glacier-blue. "Ah yes. This is, what? Your first Captain meeting since being promoted? The Commander will arrive when he arrives. He is not a hurried man."

"My second, actually." The words are accompanied by a roll of reiatsu, which actually makes it easier for Charles to breathe; the opposite of its probably-intended effect. Scott Summers has only held his rank as Captain for about 200 years, making him one of the youngest in the room. The younger Captains are always easy to distinguish—they still feel that they need to prove themselves, despite having passed every imaginable test to stand where they are now.

Anna Marie is watching him so Charles swallows, and makes himself say, "I'm sure he'll be here soon. I perceived that the matter was urgent." He doesn't turn his head. His skin feels like it is stretched too thin, taunt across his bones.

Azazel grunts, his eye sliding shut again. He's clearly finished with the conversation even though Charles can feel Scott simmering beside him. Scott's spirit pressure there, filling up and occupying that exact space is _wrong_. Charles can feel himself winding tighter and tighter, only barely resisting the urge to put as much distance possible between Scott and himself.

It's nothing personal. It just shouldn't be Scott standing beside him, filling up and occupying that exact space.

"Not too urgent, I hope," Anna Marie says serenely, her voice brokering some of the tension. "It's too lovely of a day to be cooped up inside for long. The Commander ought to install windows at the very least, don't you think? Such a stuffy old room."

"It's supposed to rain tonight," Scott says, allowing the topic change even though he speaks stiffly. "Which is good. We need the rain."

"Ah," Charles says without really meaning to, closing his eyes, "I hate the rain."

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The ground reverberates with every roll of thunder, vibrating long and deep as lightning flashes with a loud crack, rending the sky in two with bright, angry bolts that lance through the air, there and gone. The rain is heavy, pouring like buckets and casting a grey pallor across the Seireitei and slowing everything to a quiet halt as everyone seeks dry shelter indoors.

"Sorry I'm late," are the first words out of Erik's mouth as he alights in the doorway, utterly drenched and sour for it. "I practically had to _swim_ to get here—"

"There's no real rush," Charles says with a laugh, rising to greet him. "Not in this weather."

Erik meets him halfway and his lips are covered in water drops, cold from the rain, and Charles laps them up before Erik makes an impatient sound and licks his own way into Charles' mouth where warmth awaits. Charles tips his head back with a small sound, parting his lips pliantly and reaching up to tangle his hands in Erik's damp hair, dragging his fingers through the wet strands as the kiss deepens. He's pressed up against Erik's front now, plastered to him much like his drenched clothes are and Charles can feel the damp beginning to spread to his own but that hardly matters in the face of what Erik's currently doing with his tongue.

They only stop when Erik gives an involuntary shiver, and he pulls back gently to rest his forehead against Charles' with a sigh. "I hate rain."

"I like it," Charles answers him, grinning. He runs his fingers through Erik's hair some more, pushing it up straight into a mess of jagged spikes and then laughs at Erik's expression. "Come on, let's get you out of those wet clothes before you get sick."

"Don't think I can't see straight through you," Erik says dryly, but he doesn't resist as Charles tugs him lightly into his quarters. "You're completely transparent."

"Oh?" Charles asks loftily. He steps around behind Erik, helping him shrug out of his sleeveless white Captain's haori. "How so?"

"You only want me naked." Erik says matter-of-factly. He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the spikes Charles has made. He makes Charles' normally adequate room seem too small, standing in the middle of it and yet somehow taking up all the space. Charles has only one or two candles lit and in their flickering light Erik is distinctly outlined, his whipcord-lean body thrown into sharper relief whenever lightning flashes outside. He's a tiger in a cage, and he's looking at Charles with glinting, speculative eyes.

"So that's not why you came to visit?" Charles asks innocently, his voice somehow remaining steady. He turns away to spread Erik's haori over the back of a chair so it can air-dry. "Because if you really just want to sit and talk shop while you wait for the rain to let up, I'd be more than happy to discuss the merits of—"

"Oh shut up," Erik growls in his ear, suddenly directly behind him, and Charles lets out a rather undignified yelp as he's scooped up from behind in time with another crash of thunder, brought kicking and flailing back against a firm, broad chest.

"Erik—" Charles' gasping laugh turns into a small strangled sound as Erik begins to mouth at the side of his neck, automatically tipping his head to one side to allow Erik better access even as he protests breathlessly, "Erik, honestly, put me down—"

Erik's answer is to dump him forward onto the bed, letting him bounce forward on his hands and knees before crawling up after him, collapsing down on top of him and crushing him to the bed. Charles laughs, squirming beneath Erik's familiar weight, struggling out from beneath him and attacking back, rolling them both over so that Erik ends up on his back while he sits triumphantly on top of him, grinning down at him and catching bits and snatches of Erik's face every time the lightning outside flashes.

Erik looks nearly unbearably fond, any lingering remnants of tension drained entirely from his body as he lies relaxed and at ease below him. His hands come up to trace slowly up and down Charles' sides, not quite yet teasing but rather just touching for the sake of it—here in the sanctuary of Charles' quarters where they can put aside the responsibilities of Gotei 13 Captains and merely be Charles and Erik, two souls in a vast sea of many.

Charles leans down to kiss him, their lips sliding together and parting at once as Erik draws him in, broad hands now splayed across Charles' back to hold him down in place, casually commanding as they move their mouths languidly against one another. Erik still tastes like the rain, his reiatsu bright and pulsing like a livewire beneath his physical being, electrifying like lightning. He's heady and intoxicating and Charles is utterly addicted; he could spend his entire life caught up in the swells of Erik, in every last spirit particle that makes Erik who he is, real and solid and whole.

It would be frightening were Charles not aware of Erik's own regard.

They're not in a hurry, not with the storm and the otherwise slow, obligation-free evening, so getting undressed is a gradual affair, a sleeve slipped off here and there between long bouts of kissing. Charles spends a small eternity mapping out Erik's distinct jawline with his lips until Erik finally lets out a low, rumbling growl like thunder, shifting beneath him with a flex of muscles and rolling them over to the side, finally pulling off Charles' black kosode in the same motion and sending it in the same direction that his Captain's haori had gone some time before—off the edge of the bed.

Erik rolls them the rest of the way, reversing their positions fully so that now he looms over Charles, carefully pinning him down in place. He returns his full attention to Charles' throat, trailing wet, openmouthed kisses down to the juncture of Charles' neck and shoulder where he begins to suck, stopping Charles' attempts to push the rest of Erik's still-damp clothes away entirely when the smaller man is reduced to fisting his hands in the fabric tightly with a moan. Erik only laughs, which Charles feels rather than hears, watching Erik's shoulders shake with mirth even as he's reduced to squirming again. He rolls his hips up and this time it's Erik who groans, right up against Charles' pulse in such a way that Charles feels it reverberate through his entire body.

They lose what little they have left of their clothing, dropping articles off the edge of the bed haphazardly until all that remains is the silky glide of skin on skin, pressed together from shoulder to hip as Erik settles his comforting, familiar weight over Charles. Charles shivers once and then sighs, his turn to reach up and wrap his arms around Erik's back, running fingertips over every last inch of accessible, bare skin.

"I miss you," Erik murmurs beneath the next rumble of thunder, shifting under Charles' hands and Charles can feel every muscle in his back flex, "they never told me that once I became Captain I'd only get to see you once in a blue moon." He thrusts down once, quick and aborted, but still enough to rub their cocks together.

"You could have declined the rank," Charles gasps out, eyes flickering shut for a moment as he rocks up again into the brilliant, fizzling sensation, "been my Vice-Captain inst—_oh_, E-Erik—"

Erik's long, elegant finger slides inside him, working back and forth slowly as Erik watches him from above even as he shifts so that he's not in danger of crushing Charles beneath him. Charles goes slack, eyes half-lidded and his legs falling open wider as Erik touches his most intimate spot, adding a second finger with more slick to ease the initial burn.

"We'd end up murdering each other," Erik whispers thoughtfully against Charles' lips, ducking his head down to kiss him as he starts to scissor his fingers gently, stretching Charles open. Charles' cock, caught aching with need between Charles' belly and Erik's thigh, smears a glistening trail of precome across their skin. "Our Division would be horrified."

Charles starts to laugh but it ends up coming out more like a moan as Erik reaches his prostate, pressing his fingers up against the bundle of nerves until Charles is jerking beneath him, rolling his hips up to fuck himself on Erik's fingers, a litany of small, desperate sounds falling from his lips. It _has_ been awhile since they've found time to be together, like this, even with their combined efforts to have the Third and Fifth Divisions work more closely than is usual for the Gotei 13.

"Shh," Erik soothes him when Charles unwillingly lets out a small whimper as Erik withdraws his fingers. His other hand strokes the side of Charles' face, tracing softly across Charles' cheekbone. Lightning flashes again, and in that brief snapshot of time Charles sees Erik looking down at him, eyes brimming with affection and something else that runs deeper, resonating out between them in the same mutual understanding that they've had for a long, long time now. "I've got you. I'm right here."

"Closer," Charles grits out, and then throws back his head with a cry that's mostly muffled by the next roll of thunder as Erik thrusts into him in one smooth motion.

"Charles," Erik groans, pressing forward until he bottoms out, his balls flush against Charles' ass, "so tight—"

"Move," Charles answers breathlessly, hips twitching where he's pinned down by the incredible fullness of Erik's cock buried all the way inside him, "please, move, I want, I need—"

His voice cuts out when Erik obeys, pulling back only to snap his hips forward again, making them both gasp. Erik's movements grow steadier after that, fucking down into Charles with a nearly unbearable rhythm as he drives Charles closer and closer towards the edge, bracing himself with both arms on either side of Charles' head. Charles can only hold on to Erik's forearms tightly, rocking up to meet Erik on every thrust, dizzy with both need and fulfillment all at once as they pant in their shared breathing space, eyes locked and unable to look away, enraptured by each other.

Very suddenly Erik stops, his cock buried as deeply as it can go even as he sits up, sliding one hand back to grip Charles' leg and hike it up into the air. On his back, Charles quivers, vibrating with desire and the rush of his own blood as his heart pounds at a million miles an hour, gazing up at Erik as his lips move soundlessly, silent pleas for completion.

"I love you," Erik tells him, in this quiet lull between rumbling thunder with only the sound of pattering rain on the roof overhead, the entire universe narrowed down to just the two of them, here and now.

"Erik," Charles manages to reply, past the point of coherence but utterly heartfelt all the same, every last bit of crackling desire sparking through his bones like lightning itself, searing with nearly overwhelming potency—he loves Erik, heart and soul, and every atom in between.

They come together, Charles painting white stripes across both of their chests with a cry while Erik's hips stutter as he shakes apart inside Charles, dropping his hold on Charles' leg while he pushes forward to fill Charles with hot, wet come and making Charles' toes curl. They don't move for a few long moments, Erik half-collapsed down on top of Charles and Charles still drifting back down from a euphoric high, reaching up shakily to run his fingers through Erik's hair.

Erik hums appreciatively, the sound welling up from deep within his chest, a tiny tremor that makes Charles shiver even as he smiles, still overly sensitive, and especially with Erik still inside him. It isn't uncomfortable, though. It's perfect.

Outside the rain still pours, the thunder growing fainter and fainter in the distance.

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The Captain Commander and First Division Captain of the Gotei 13 is said to hold enough reiatsu to repower a dying star but none of them feel him coming; nothing one moment and then in the next, _everything_—a presence so potent and demanding that Charles can feel every particle in the room straining to realign itself obediently with the superior force.

Charles keeps his eyes closed, remaining still even as he feels Scott shift beside him. The Commander's presence unfolds in the room like water flowing over a flat surface, filling up every last crack and cranny available, leaving no space uncovered. An assertive man, the Commander. Charles has known him for centuries now and true to form he's barely changed through all the years, dominating the room casually yet pointedly as he walks down the center of their two files. He'll have his hands clasped neatly behind his back, and the same half-smile playing around the corners of his lips; the kind of almost condescending smirk that suggests the wearer knows more than you about any given subject at any given point in time.

It's an arrogance not without substantial reason, however—the Captain-Commander has been a single entity for close to two thousand years, the original founder of the Gotei 13 and for many centuries was the Head Instructor of the Academy. There are, Charles believes it is safe to assume, not many things that Sebastian Shaw doesn't know more about than anyone else.

"Good afternoon, friends," he greets them when he reaches the end of the chamber, a lazy drawl that has ground more than one set of nerves to dust, "a pity we had to spoil it by convening. I shan't keep you long, I hear it's supposed to rain later."

Charles' reiatsu _snaps_, an audible crack that echoes off the high ceiling loudly in the sudden deathly silence, reacting before he can stop himself. He opens his eyes, turning his head towards the Captain-Commander who stares straight back through a half-lidded gaze, relaxed and at ease in his high-backed chair, hands resting idly on the gilded armrests. On purpose, he said that _on purpose_ and Charles can feel himself quivering, the frayed ends of his spirit pressure flapping like the torn edges of a flag in a maelstrom.

Shaw holds his gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching knowingly. None of the other Captains dare to look up, still as statues in serene apathy. Only Scott shows any sign of disquiet, having taken a step to the side when Charles' reiatsu had lashed out, leaving a gap wider than normal between them and disturbing the symmetry of the lines.

"Sebastian," Anna Marie says, calm and unfailingly polite, her voice made to ring with pure sincerity by her accent alone. Out of all the Captains present she is the only one who calls the Commander by his first name and easy familiarity, most likely a product of their similar longevity. Rumors circulate that the Fourth Division Captain is the only being in existence that Commander Shaw is afraid of, were he capable of fear. "May I inquire the purpose of this council?"

"You may," Shaw says, his gaze sweeping away from Charles as his attention refocuses and settles, easily as that. Charles slowly unclenches his fists. "Troubling news has been brought from the Human World."

No one says a word, though Charles imagines that there are several different kinds of thoughts running through each of the other Captain's heads. To be a Captain, Charles has learned over the long years, is to show nothing in the face of your fellow Captains lest you be taken for incompetent and weak. He has no doubt of what they must think of him and his teetering stance on the edge of falling apart completely.

He closes his eyes again, exhausted.

"Three months ago, Henry McCoy, unseated member of our Twelfth Division, was assigned to the Human World," Shaw says, nearly careless with the way he sounds. Charles can picture him addressing some distant point at the end of the council chamber above all their heads, speaking to the lofty heights that he holds himself to. "He spent his first month as directed, patrolling for Hollows and eliminating them as required. Captain Essex's records indicate that young McCoy was very prompt with his check-ins for the first month. Two months ago, however, our friend McCoy went missing, and only recently has he been relocated."

Here it comes. Charles is vaguely curious despite himself in a distant, detached kind of way. Whatever Henry McCoy has been doing in his two months of absence must be particularly offensive, if it's cause for the Captains to be assembled. He can think of no reason directly off the top of his head, but Charles hasn't paid much attention to anything at all lately in the past 200 years. Maybe there's another war going on in the Human World again, and Henry McCoy has unwittingly become entangled in it.

"It has been discovered that Henry McCoy is guilty of high treason," Shaw says, and he could be talking about the weather again for all that it seems to matter, "and is to be placed under arrest for the crime of transferring his Shinigami powers to a human."

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Later Charles will remember the chain events preceding the end of his world clinically, a series of deliberate steps anointed by flashes of memory all leading up to hollow emptiness.

It starts with Erik still inside him, softening, yet neither of them willing to move quite yet as Charles continues to run his fingers through Erik's hair, half-dozing in the afterglow and content with Erik's comforting, familiar weight on top of him. It starts with Erik shifting, mouthing lazily at Charles' collarbone, the beginning of a promise for a second round. It starts with Charles laughing, tugging on Erik's hair teasingly, and the curve of Erik's smile into his skin.

It's followed by the Hell Butterfly, small and black, fluttering into the room and landing on the windowsill, wings folding open-closed, open-closed, open-closed to dry from the rain. It's followed by Erik sitting up, pulling out gently and stroking Charles' cheek one last time, and then the both of them getting dressed quickly and efficiently, Charles a few moments behind on the account of cleaning himself off, though a little less thoroughly than he usually prefers. It's followed by Erik holding out a hand for the Butterfly to perch deftly on one of his fingers to relay the message it carries.

There's been an incident. Only one member of a Third Division squad sent out on a reconnaissance mission has returned. It is likely that the others are dead. Charles puts a hand on Erik's tense back at the news, biting the inside of his own cheek in horror. The one girl who did return was brought immediately to the hospital, her condition critical, but now she's gone missing.

"I have to go," Charles remembers Erik saying, "she's one of mine."

"I'll come with you," Charles knows he answered, unhesitating and sincere because where Erik goes Charles always follows, and he knows it's killing Erik, to have lost members of his Division, the people he's in charge of and is supposed to protect, so if Charles can help him find the remaining girl then it's the least he can do.

It's followed by Erik kissing him, soft and intimate but only for a moment, and had Charles known then that it would be their last, he would've held on a little tighter, a little longer, a little more _please, don't go_.

But Charles doesn't know this, doesn't know anything, so it's followed by the both of them leaving the warm sanctuary of Charles' rooms behind and ducking out into the night and rain, flash stepping to avoid the worst of the drops. He remembers his waraji and tabi quickly soaking through as they splash through puddles, he remembers checking his speed because he's always been fast, but arriving before Erik doesn't seem appropriate this time.

He remembers arriving outside the hospital, the last known location of Erik's missing Division member, and he remembers that it's followed immediately by distinct, overwhelming horror.

It never really goes away.

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"I fail to see why Captain Essex cannot clean up his own mess," Azazel rumbles, thick arms still folded across his chest. His voice permeates the air, drawing up a brief silence as it cuts through the debate that has finally sprung up in the face of the troubling news. "This concerns me very little, Commander, as my duties look inward, to the Seireitei. Not the Human World."

"As do mine," Essex snaps, his normally oily tones frigid and biting, "and I'd say that the Twelfth Division R&D department is slightly busier than the Stealth Force at this point in time."

Azazel's posture doesn't change but he opens his eyes fully for the first time. "Shall I draw, then?" he asks in his low, calm voice, the red hilt of his Zanpakutō is stark against his white haori. As Captain of the Second Division, Azazel is Commander-in-Chief of the Onmitsukidō. Charles has never witnessed it directly but knows just as well as everyone else present in the room that when the Commander-in-Chief draws his blade, he summons the Executive Branch of the Onmitsukidō—the ninja.

"Gentlemen," Shaw says, indulgently amused despite the fact that two Captains are threatening to start a war right in the middle of the council chamber, "no need for such drastic measures. Captain Essex, I am well aware of how busy you are, and my dear Azazel, there's no need to turn such a blind eye to matters in the Human World."

"Respectfully, Commander, I do not believe this is a matter for Captains," Jean says coolly into the brief silence that follows, where Essex huffs once and Azazel closes his eyes again indifferently. Charles can feel the beginnings of a headache, pounding in each of his temples and steadily increasing. "Send Vice-Captains after this McCoy, if even that. If he is unranked then he poses very little threat."

"Ah, Captain Grey, he is unranked and yet the human he transferred his powers to has increased exponentially in strength and skill," Shaw replies, eyes glittering. The Commander is a difficult man to read under any circumstances, and all the more so now—Charles is unable to ascertain as to what Shaw's intentions are, treading the surprisingly fine line between treating the situation as an emergency or as something that doesn't matter at all. "It would ease my conscience best to send a Captain, taking into account this unknown factor."

"We are all at your disposal," Jean replies neutrally, but now no one in the room is looking directly at the Commander. No one wants to lower themselves to a milk run, perceiving themselves as far too important for such a task. Charles very nearly volunteers out of sheer spite, but in the end he doesn't. All he wants to do is retreat to Fifth Division barracks to meditate in his quarters, clear the taste of bile from his mouth.

In the end, he isn't given a choice. "Captain Xavier, I would like for you to go," Shaw says, regarding him with cold finality, his words sinking like stones in Charles' pool of false calm. "Arrest Henry McCoy and eliminate the abomination he has created, since you're so very good at that."

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The rain obscures most of Charles' vision as he runs, coming down thick and heavy from the dark night sky overhead, soaking him to the bone. The scene of the massacre outside the hospital is fresh in his mind, red blood washing away slowly in the rain but the bodies cold and lifeless strewn out across the ground in pieces. Charles almost vomits.

There was something inside her, the sobbing orderly from Fourth Division had said, there was something inside her and it wanted to come out.

Much later, when Charles can bear thinking about it, he does the research. Metastacia. An old Hollow long hunted by the Gotei 13 for its particular sport of eating only Shinigami. Able to fuse with a person's body, cunning and sly Metastacia had happened upon Erik's squad and destroyed them, fusing with the last member and using her body to lie in wait until she was brought back to the hospital.

He knows none of this now, sprinting into the dark forest where the Hollow was last seen entering. They cannot allow the Hollow to escape, not while it's in the middle of the Seireitei. He and Erik have split up to cover more ground. They're both Captains, they can handle it. They'll find the Hollow faster this way.

Through the dark and the rain, Charles hears a scream.

He changes direction with the tiniest shift of his ankle, flash stepping through the trees with near reckless speed in the direction of the scream. He's one of the fastest Shunpo users in the Gotei 13, his smaller frame allowing for speeds matched by few, and it's this coupled with the lightning-quick reflexes he's had to develop because of it that saves him several times over from smashing into tree trunks.

Ahead there is a clearing and in the clearing is a girl, hunched over herself with her hands clawing at her head as she screams again, agonized and riding the edge of a jagged sob. Charles alights beside her and then has to stop himself from flinching back when lightning flashes—she's covered in blood, not all of it her own.

"Get it out," she croaks beneath the sound of the rain, "get it out, get it out, get it—"

"How can I help," Charles asks her, reaching one hand out towards her trembling body, "can you tell me what's—"

Her last scream pierces the air and Charles leaps back with a cry when her body _rips_, tearing apart in a spray of hot blood that splatters across him. He steps backwards in surprised, wary fear as a massive, hulking form unfolds itself from the ruins of the girl's body like a nightmare come to life. The spirit pressure alone tells Charles instantly it's a Hollow; this one a six-limbed creature with a large, flame-patterned mask and a flock of tentacles on its back.

"Captain-flesh," it says, opening a wide, grinning mouth as it rotates to face him, tentacles undulating wildly in the air. "I've never had Captain-flesh. So young and fresh. I'll eat you next."

Charles hits it with a silent Kidō spell, dodging to the side as the Hollow ignites with an explosion and a scream, lighting up the clearing for a brief moment in wild, licking flames that hiss and sizzle in the rain. He makes the single mistake of pausing, peering through the smoke, because surely a spell of that caliber with his reiatsu behind it is enough to finish the Hollow off.

Howling out nowhere, the Hollow throws itself at him, mouth open in a snarl, one of its tentacles lashing forward. Charles skids on the wet ground, sodden clothes weighing him down, one hand flying down to grip the hilt of his Zanpakutō and draw—

The tentacle grazes his forearm but that's all it takes, his arm snapping like a twig as the Hollow's spirit pressure surges forward enough to temporarily overwhelm his own, and white-hot pain lances upwards and manifests as a scream as Charles stumbles back. The tentacle snaps across his front, knocking him off his feet entirely and Charles slams backwards into a tree, his cry cut short by all the air being forced out of his lungs by impact, sliding down to a crumpled sitting position at the base of the tree.

"They don't make Captains like they used to, do they?" the Hollow says, advancing on him slowly. Charles clutches his ruined arm to his chest, breathing harshly. Think. _Think_. He isn't fully ambidextrous but he can hold his own, usually, though this Hollow is—different. It's not a Menos but it's stronger than one, somehow. He's never encountered one like it before. "You look like you should still be playing with wooden sticks at your Academy."

Charles grits his teeth. Keeping his arm pressed to his chest, he slowly begins to slide his other hand down towards the hilt of his Zanpakutō. He has a small chance, if it leaps at him again, and if he can draw his blade quickly enough, as long as it doesn't notice what he's—

"I see you, little Shinigami!" the Hollow snarls, launching itself forward with its mouth open wide, and Charles yanks his blade out and closes his eyes, bracing himself for impact—

Neither he nor the Hollow sense Erik's spirit pressure until it's too late.

There's a wet squelch, horribly loud over the falling rain, and a weak, choking breath. Charles, still tensed for a collision that has yet to come, cracks open his eyes slowly.

Erik looms over him where he sits, hands pressed against the trunk above Charles' head and his body like a shield between him and the Hollow. His body, with three tentacles bursting out of his chest from where they've penetrated his back from behind.

Charles stares up at him with wide, horrified eyes. "Erik?" he whispers, voice trembling.

"He's gonna," Erik grits out, lips already red with blood, "he's gonna do to me—what he did to her. Don't let him—Charles. Don't—" He throws back his head and screams when the tentacles begin to move, absorbing into him, a living parasite, and Charles sits frozen in place, _not doing a thing_—

The Hollow reels Erik back, drawing him off Charles and shoving its complete, bulky mass into his lean frame with a series of sounds that plague Charles' nightmares for the rest of his life, wholly consuming Erik from the inside out. When Erik's body straightens, moving stiffly, he's little more than a reanimated corpse that turns its head jerkily to look at Charles.

"Another young Captain," the Hollow says with Erik's mouth, its voice a twisted mix of Erik's familiar accent that before has whispered so many sweet nothings into Charles' ears and the harsh, jarring tones of the Hollow's guttural speech. "Such high hopes for wasted talent. Such sweet Captain flesh." It lifts one hand and drags it shakily down the side of Erik's face. "He's still alive. I'll let him watch as I tear you limb from limb and eat you."

Mouth hanging open in a sick parody of a laugh, the Hollow dives at Charles with Erik's body, bloody hands outstretched for Charles' throat, and Charles lets out a sob as he realizes what he has to do, what Erik's asked him to do, what he has no choice but to—

Erik is on top of him, slippery hands closing around Charles' neck but Charles lifts his blade and thrusts it straight into Erik's stomach.

The Hollow shrieks, twisting and writhing and only serving to drive Charles' blade in Erik deeper, howling one final time, long and loud before bursting into particles, dead at last. Erik's blood pools down on Charles, running slick and wet in the rain.

Erik is breathing shallowly where he slumps over Charles, impaled on his Zanpakutō . His head rests on Charles' shoulder. "Good. Good. You got him."

Charles shakes, entire body quaking where he's pinned beneath Erik's dead weight and the tree. "No," he gasps out, and it feels like each word is being torn out of him along with a piece of his heart, "no, Erik, this isn't—_Erik_—"

"Shh," Erik whispers, gentle and soft, the way he's only ever been with Charles, "you're here. That's all I need. I'm sorry—" he coughs weakly, bubbling wetness deep in his lungs, "—I'm sorry there wasn't—more time. I love you. Thank you."

It ends with a quiet sigh, with warm blood gone cold, with the rain continuing to pour. It ends with them finding Charles still pinned against the tree by Erik's body, and it ends with Charles eventually losing his voice after being unable to stop screaming Erik's name. It ends with the others having to pry them both apart when Charles refuses to let go.

It ends with emptiness, a hollow, all-consuming whole.


End file.
